


if i drink enough (i swear that i will wake up next to you)

by dinosar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Catharsis, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29184204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosar/pseuds/dinosar
Summary: sylvain knows that felix has never been the type to sit still, knows it's not something hecando. he accepts this, and cherishes what time he does get with him.but then one day, leonie shows up at his door with a familiar sword, and sylvain's entire life grinds to a complete halt. feeling as he has nothing left to live for, he's set on drinking himself to death.but ingrid is not about to let that happen.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	if i drink enough (i swear that i will wake up next to you)

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna preface this by saying i DO hate myself for writing this : )
> 
> i was listening to talia by king princess one night like, a year ago, and my brain went "HMMMM......sylvain and felix's non azure-moon paired ending?" now, i did modify it a bit to fit my own agenda (as in, they've been seeing each other steadily since the end of the war instead of not seeing each other for literal years until sylvain hires felix) but the pain of it remains the same : ) anyway this has been sitting on my laptop for FAR too long so i decided to get off my ass and finally finish it lmao
> 
> there's mentions of ingrid/dorothea, claude/lorenz, f!byleth/mercie, and hilda/marianne, but nothing crazy. felix and sylvain are very much the romantic focus of this fic (brief as it is)
> 
> anyway, sorry again : )
> 
> _hey my love  
>  buried you a month or two ago  
> but i keep thinkin' that you're standing on my floor  
> that you're waiting there for me_
> 
> _hey my love  
>  you've walked out a thousand times, how was i  
> supposed to know this time that you wouldn't come  
> that you wouldn't come home?_
> 
> _bought four drinks, i'm wasted  
>  i can see you dancin'  
> i can lay down next to you  
> at the foot of my bed_
> 
> _if i drink enough  
>  i can taste your lipstick  
> i can lay down next to you  
> but it's all in my head  
> if i drink enough i swear  
> that i will wake up next to you  
> \- talia, king princess_

Sylvain can't remember how long it's been since he was last sober.

He thinks it's been perhaps a month, or maybe even two at this point. The excessive drinking doesn't exactly help with the concept of keeping track of time, not that he really cares―nothing matters anymore, least of all what fucking day it is.

All he knows is that he's been drinking since the day a sword arrived at his doorstep in the hands of a friend and turned his entire life as he knew it upside down.

A sharp spike of pain lances through his chest, and he quickly takes another swig of his whiskey. It burns going down, a new pain that he hopes will keep the memory at bay, but of course he could never be that lucky, and the memory rises unbidden to the forefront of his liquor-addled brain.

“ _I don't know when I'll be back,” Felix says bluntly, tightening the strap of his sword. “There's still plenty of fighting to be done in old Imperial territory, despite Byleth's best efforts at controlling it. I'm going to try and settle what I can.”_

“ _Or you could stay,” Sylvain suggests, not moving from his position on his bed, half covered by a thin white sheet. It's the only thing covering his body―his bare chest is on display for Felix's viewing pleasure, white scars standing out against his skin, which is covered in a thin sheen of sweat from previous..._ activities _. He's not quite sure how Felix is already up and moving, if he's being honest, because they'd just had quite the workout._

_Felix snorts, rolling his eyes. “Or_ you _could come with me, you lazy asshole,” he mutters, pulling on those delightful thigh-high boots of his. Despite his exhaustion, Sylvain feels a stirring in his gut once more at the sight. “It's not like I can't handle myself, but...” Felix pauses, the slightest bit of color rising to his cheeks. “I wouldn't mind the company, I guess,” he admits._

“ _You're awfully cute when you drop that tough guy lone wolf act of yours, y'know?” Sylvain teases, sitting up and stretching. His bones creak in protest―he's not as young as he once was. He throws the sheet off, unashamed of his nudity, and saunters over to where Felix stands, cheeks redder than before and puffing up like an angry hedgehog. “Aw, am I embarrassing you?” he coos, tilting Felix's chin up._

_Immediately, his hand is smacked away. “I take back my invitation,” Felix snarls, pouting in a way that Sylvain can't help but think of as adorable. “You can stay here, sit at your desk and go soft for all I care. But for Sothis' sake, put some godsdamned clothes on.”_

_Sylvain clicks his tongue, reaching out and pulling Felix flush against him. “Don't be like that, Fe,” he murmurs, knocking their foreheads together gently. He feels Felix sigh and relax into him the slightest bit. “You know that my place is here now, handling the Gautier estate. Besides, I just don't enjoy fighting the way that you do.”_

“ _I know,” Felix sighs, letting his forehead fall to rest on Sylvain's broad, freckled shoulder and nuzzling the skin there. “I didn't actually expect you to say yes, I just...miss having you around to watch my back, sometimes. Don't you_ dare _say anything embarrassing,” he warns preemptively, poking Sylvain's chest hard._

_Sylvain squeezes him tighter at that, swallowing down the sudden tightness in his throat. “We made a pretty good team back in the day, huh?” he murmurs, getting a hum from Felix in response. “I do miss it sometimes, y'know. Not the fighting, per se, but...just the feeling of doing it with you at my back. Keeping each other safe. We were pretty unstoppable, weren't we?”_

“ _Best team in the army,” Felix mumbles into Sylvain's shoulder, lips brushing against his skin as he speaks._

“ _Why don't you ask Leonie to go with you?” Sylvain asks softly, reaching up to toy with Felix's hair, which has yet to be tied up. Sylvain likes it down like this―maybe it's the novelty of it, since it's tied up more often than not, but...Felix just looks so_ handsome _with it down and framing his face, hanging just past his shoulders, damp and slightly wavy from sweat._

“ _Maybe,” Felix hums, making no move to step out of the embrace._

_Gently, Sylvain slides his hand from Felix's hair to his chin, urging him to lift his head. Their eyes meet, warm brown with burning amber, and then Sylvain is closing the distance between their lips. Felix's are a little chapped, but they're warm and firm against his own. Familiar. They're the only lips Sylvain ever wants to kiss for the rest of his life._

_He always hates it when Felix leaves. He knows he has to, knows he gets restless if he stays in one place for too long, but it doesn't stop Sylvain from wishing that Felix would just...settle down with him. They don't necessarily need to get married or anything fancy like that, but...Sylvain wants to grow old with Felix by his side._

_Wants them to die together after a lifetime spent loving each other, just as they'd promised as young children._

“ _Hurry back to me, yeah? Gets way too quiet around here without you yelling at me to train,” Sylvain murmurs when their kiss ends, bumping their noses together affectionately._

“ _You can just say that you'll miss me, you know,” Felix teases, a hint of his trademark smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth._

“ _I will when you will, love,” Sylvain retorts, grinning despite the familiar ache growing in his heart. It plagues him every time Felix leaves the safety of Gautier territory, of his embrace._

“ _...you know that I will, asshole,” Felix grumbles, avoiding his eyes. “Miss you, that is. You're all I can think about, whether I'm with you or away from you. I think it might actually get me killed one of these days.”_

_Sylvain can't help but kiss him again at that, squeezing his eyes shut. “No dying on me,” he mumbles against Felix's mouth, pressing another chaste kiss against it before pulling his head away. “We die together, or not at all,” he says resolutely._

_Felix lets out a quiet snort at that. “You make it sound like we could live forever if we wanted to.”_

“ _I'm sure we could figure it out,” Sylvain shrugs, cracking a crooked smile. “Just come back to me, asshole. That's all I ask, since you insist on going in the first place.”_

“ _As if some shitty small-time Imperials could ever take me out,” Felix replies, rolling his eyes. “We fought Nemesis and our shitty ancestors and came out of that alright. This is a walk in the park compared to that.”_

“ _Dude, I don't know if you've forgotten, but Gautier fucked me up in that fight.”_

“ _Yeah, well, we can't all be me I suppose,” Felix responds, running a gloved finger down the line of Sylvain's neck to the middle of his chest, stopping just above where his abs begin. Sylvain swallows hard, silently telling his body to behave. “Fraldarius didn't even leave a scratch on me.”_

“ _Aren't you special,” Sylvain teases, grabbing Felix's hand from his chest and pressing kisses to his leather-covered fingertips. “So strong, Felix. I could just_ swoon _.”_

“ _Oh, shut up,” Felix sighs, but he's smiling. He reluctantly begins to pull away. “...I need to get going if I'm going to make it to Leonie's village by the end of the week. And I_ promise _I will come back eventually.”_

_Internally, Sylvain breathes a sigh of relief at the thought of Felix actually asking for Leonie's help. He hates it when Felix does these things all alone―no matter how capable of a fighter he is, no one is invincible. He feels better knowing that there will be someone there to watch his back._

“ _I'll hold you to that, you know. Just...hurry back to me?” Sylvain pleads, pressing Felix's hand back to his chest, right over his heart, and holding it there. “And write to me if you can, you know I worry.”_

“ _I make no promises of that,” Felix responds, lifting his free hand to cup Sylvain's cheek. “Writing on the road isn't always the easiest. I_ will _try to be back in a month or so, though.”_

“ _Okay,” Sylvain says softly, knowing it's the best he can hope for. He leans into Felix's hand. “One more kiss? To hold me over until then?”_

“ _Insatiable,” Felix mutters, but he's already leaning in. The press of his lips is addictive, and Sylvain really,_ really _doesn't want to let him leave―for a brief moment, he entertains a fantasy of dragging Felix back to bed and convincing him to stay, but...he knows that Felix can't be tamed. And despite the worry it causes, Sylvain can't imagine having him any other way, and so he tells himself to be grateful for whatever time he gets._

His glass shatters against the wall as he violently throws it, spilling its contents onto the stone floor. He falls to his knees, clawing at his chest like he might rip his heart right out―he thinks it might hurt less than remembering.

“Need more whiskey,” he grunts to himself, voice scratchy from disuse. It'd been at least a week or two since he'd actually talked to anyone, he thinks.

He crawls over to his nearly-empty decanter on his desk, uncorking it and pulling it to his lips, not even bothering with another glass. He needs to drown everything out, because he feels like he's being ripped apart from the inside out.

He's so far gone he doesn't even hear it when his bedroom door opens, doesn't notice that he's no longer alone until he hears a throat being cleared.

“I don't care what the fuck is going on out there, I _said_ that I don't want to be disturbed!” he snarls without turning to face the intruder, swallowing another burning mouthful.

“Sylvain...enough is enough.”

His head whips around at the sound of Ingrid's deceptively calm voice, nearly causing him to fall over with how dizzy the action makes him. “Ingrid?” he questions, blinking hard like he expects her to disappear. Another hallucination, maybe―he has more than enough of those lately.

She looks like an angel of fury as she stomps across the room to where he kneels on the floor, lifting him by the collar of his frankly disgusting shirt and giving him a shake, causing the alcohol in the decanter to slosh dangerously as it nearly falls from his hand. “Ashe told me you sent him away last week. Told me you've been here, drinking yourself stupid for the last two months. Do you think that this is what Felix would want for you?!” she demands, green eyes blazing.

“Don't you fucking _dare_ say his name,” Sylvain spits, shakily getting his legs beneath himself and ripping Ingrid's hand from his collar, roughly slamming the decanter onto his desk and stumbling away to put some distance between them. He's starting to feel like a caged animal.

“Do you think you're the only person in the world who misses him? The only one who _loved_ him? You selfish bastard, get a fucking hold of yourself,” Ingrid growls, forcing herself into his space once more and jabbing her index finger into his chest.

“No one loved him the way I did!” he explodes, grabbing her hand and squeezing it so hard that it must hurt, but Ingrid doesn't so much as flinch. “We were supposed to die _together_ , Ingrid, but he left me! He left me here to wait for him while he went fucking...crusading in old Imperial territory and he fucking got himself _killed_. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?! How the fuck am I supposed to handle that?! Am I just supposed to pretend that there isn't a huge piece of me missing now?! Tell me, Ingrid, because I'd _really_ fucking love to know!”

“You can start,” she begins, voice deadly quiet in contrast to Sylvain's unhinged yelling, “by not following him to the fucking grave, Sylvain. I know it _hurts_. I know you're angry at him for dying on you. I know your heart is broken and you don't know how else to cope with it. But if you think for one godsdamned second that he wouldn't kick your ass right now, then you're farther gone than I thought.”

“ _What_ , so you think it's _your_ job to kick my ass for him?” Sylvain sneers.

“It is,” Ingrid answers, green eyes hard as steel. “He'd kick _my_ ass for letting you waste away like this.”

“Well, lucky for you, he isn't here to kick _anyone's_ ass, so you're off the hook! You can just...get the _fuck_ out of my space and off my lands. Maybe before you go, you can grab me another bottle of whiskey, because I'm nearly out―”

The slap against his cheek echoes through the room, cutting off his tirade and shocking him into silence. He barely registers the heaving of Ingrid's chest as he finally releases her hand to touch the burning hot skin of his cheek, blinking dumbly and trying to process what had just happened.

Suddenly, he feels very, very sober.

“I will not get you even one more _drop_ of alcohol,” Ingrid pants, angry tears pooling in her eyes, just waiting to fall. “In fact, I've already ordered your staff to pour every bottle on the property out, and I've ordered them to ignore any requests for more from you. You may be hellbent on drinking yourself to death, but I'm not about to let that happen if I have anything to say about it. I _will not_ lose two best friends so close together, so you're going to get your shit together _right fucking now_ and start dealing with this like an adult.” She blinks, causing the tears in her eyes to finally fall, and Sylvain watches as her lower lip quivers with emotion, watches her catch it between her teeth in an effort to still it. “Hate me if you want, I really don't care―but I _will_ keep you alive whether you want me to or not. It's the least I can do for Felix, and for you too.”

Against his will, Sylvain feels his eyes being drawn to that fucking sword propped against the wall beside his bed, the sword that Leonie had brought to his doorstep with tears in her eyes.

“ _We were ambushed,” she tells him, voice cracking as she holds the sword out for him to take. It shakes in her grip, and Sylvain tries not to think about why it looks so familiar, about why she could possibly be offering him a sword while looking as upset as she does, with Felix nowhere in sight._

_He can feel his blood pounding in his ears, feels his body go hot and cold all at once. “Leonie,” he begins, voice barely above a whisper. “Where is Felix?”_

“ _...I'm so sorry,” she sniffles, lifting her arm so she can wipe her wet face on her sleeve. “I'm_ so _fucking sorry, Sylvain.”_

“ _You're lying,” he says, feeling his breathing pick up. There's an ache growing in his chest, stronger than any he's ever felt before. “Leonie, tell me you're lying._ Please _.”_

“ _He's...he's_ gone _, Sylvain,” she tells him, biting her lip as her face crumples. “I'm so fucking sorry, it happened so fast. One second we were just traveling down the road with my men, and then the next thing we knew they were dying all around us and_ then _he was on the ground―”_

_Sylvain falls to his knees, vision blackening as he begins to gasp for air, no longer able to hear the words she's saying over the sound of his own hyperventilating._

_This couldn't be happening. There's no way Felix could die. Not after the promise they'd made. This is just some kind of cruel joke, it_ has _to be. Felix would be home soon, and he'd laugh about his joke and Sylvain would_ pretend _to be mad but really he'd just be so relieved to have him home again that it would override everything else._

But it wasn't a joke. Felix never came home again. He really had died in some random village on the way to Enbarr that Leonie had dragged him to in an effort to save his life―a village so small that there wasn't a single healer around who could tend to him. It had apparently been so bad by the time she'd gotten him there that all the vulneraries in the world couldn't have saved him. He'd bled out thousands of miles away in some shitty, uncomfortable clinic bed, and Leonie had said that all he'd been able to think about in his final moments was Sylvain.

Along with his sword, Leonie had also brought his bag, which contained all of his belongings. Sylvain hadn't been able to bring himself to look through it yet―not when even just looking at it made him feel as if he was picking at a freshly scabbed wound.

“He loved you more than _anything_ ,” Ingrid says softly, uncaring of the tears leaving wet tracks on her cheeks. “He would want you to continue living no matter what, Sylvain, you _know_ that.”

“Why should he get a say in it when he left me first?” Sylvain croaks, swallowing around the painful lump in his throat. “I didn't want him to go. I wanted him to stay here with me forever, Ingrid. Why couldn't he just fucking _stay_?”

“You know he couldn't do that,” Ingrid murmurs, reaching up to card a gloved hand through his matted, greasy hair. “Felix wasn't built to stay still, not even for the person he loved most in the world.”

“I know,” Sylvain whispers, head drooping. “I fucking _know_ that, I just...” He bites his lip hard, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. “What the fuck do I do now, Ingrid? How do I keep living with this huge fucking hole in my chest? It _hurts_ , so fucking bad. I hear him in my sleep. Sometimes, when I wake up, I _swear_ I can see him in bed next to me. He's _haunting_ me, Ingrid, I can't go one single second without thinking about him and the fact that I will never, ever get to hold him ever again...” A sob escapes his throat, and he falls against her, clutching her desperately. “No matter how much I drink, I can't forget him,” he finishes, voice cracking.

“Oh, Sylvain,” Ingrid sighs, hugging him close to her chest and kissing the side of his head. “You don't actually want to forget him, we both know that. I know it hurts, and I wish I could tell you that the pain eventually goes away,” she says softly, gently pulling at a tangle in his hair. “I wish I could tell you that someday, the thought of him won't take your breath away anymore. But he will _always_ be a part of you, Sylvain. And as much as it hurts, aren't you glad you had the chance to love him and be loved by him? Isn't that worth the pain?”

“I...I don't _know_ ,” he answers honestly, face buried against her shoulder. He's staining the fabric of her light blue tunic with his tears, but if she minds, she doesn't say so. “It hurts so bad, Ingrid, I...I miss him so fucking much. Maybe if we'd just stayed friends, it wouldn't be so bad...”

“We both know you don't mean that,” she hushes him, squeezing him tighter.

“...yeah, I know,” he acquiesces, sniffling. “I just...what do I do now? Please, just...tell me that.”

“You live,” she says simply, gently pushing him from her shoulder to cup his face, offering a soft, kind smile as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs. “Live for you, for him, and live for me and everyone else who loves you. Grieve him properly from now on―no more drinking yourself into a stupor the second you roll out of bed. And then, once you're able...start taking care of your _people_ again. I'll help as much as I'm able, okay? You aren't alone, despite how you feel.”

“Ingrid, I...” Sylvain swallows the lump in his throat, pulling her to him for a proper hug. “Thank you. I'm sorry for being such a fucking mess, and for saying those awful things to you. Thank you for caring enough to slap some sense into me...”

“I'll always be around to slap some sense into you, you know that. It's been my job for as long as we've been friends,” she teases gently, rubbing his back. “And I'm sorry, too, for what it's worth...for taking so long to come, I mean. I...I needed time to grieve, too. I wanted to be able to be strong for you when I finally came.

“You really don't need to apologize,” he assures her, breathing in her familiar, comforting soapy scent. “You weren't obligated to come here at all, y'know. You could've just...left me to my own devices to waste away. It would've been my own fault for being so damn weak.”

“I could never do that,” she tells him, shaking her head. “You're my best friend, and I love you too much to lose _you_ , too. We have to look out for each other.” She pulls back to take another good look at him, sighing at whatever she sees. “Goddess, you look so tired, Sylvain. I hate that you've been suffering so much.”

“I...I have nightmares, every time I fall asleep,” he admits, looking down at his feet. He can't bear to look her in the eyes. “I see him dying. Hear him calling out for me. He...” He swallows hard. “He asked me to go with him, and I fucking...told him I had to stay here. I should've gone, Ingrid, should've gotten someone else to watch over my lands for a bit―maybe if I had, I could've kept him safe―”

“Do not torture yourself by going down that road, Sylvain Jose Gautier,” she interrupts, voice firm as she grasps his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You _can't_ do that to yourself, Sylvain, it's not fair. No one could've known what would happen. And maybe if you'd gone, you would've died, too, and I'd be grieving two best friends right now. One already feels like too much to bear. Please, just...don't think like that.”

“I can't help it,” he tells her, biting his lip. “It haunts me, I'm terrified to go to sleep. I'm lucky if I get even three hours of sleep in a day.”

“Maybe Mercie knows of some kind of sleep-aid you can start taking,” Ingrid muses. “I'll write to her tomorrow, because...you need sleep, Sylvain―you're going to make yourself very sick.” Gently, she steers him toward his bed. “I want you to try and sleep for a little bit, okay? Even if you just lay there and close your eyes, that's better than nothing.” She stops short just before they reach his bed, grimacing at the state of it. “But first...we're changing your sheets. I don't even want to know what these stains are,” she mutters.

Sylvain feels a little embarrassed, now that he'd lucid enough to actually take in the state of himself and his room. The bed is a total mess, stained with liquor, sweat, and maybe even a little vomit. There's also broken glass all over the floor near his walls. In one corner, there's a gigantic pile of dirty clothes, because he hasn't let anyone in to clean in two months and obviously hadn't been too concerned about doing it himself. His room is basically a godsdamned write-off at this point.

“I'll just...sleep in one of the guest rooms for now, maybe,” he says sheepishly.

“That is a much better idea,” Ingrid nods sagely.

“Will you...lay down with me?” he asks her, feeling a bit like a child asking their mother if they can sleep in her bed. “Sorry, I know I probably reek, but...I just don't think I can be alone right now.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches down to take his hand. “Lead the way.”

He leads her out of the room and down the hallway, passing by a maid busying herself with cleaning the floors. Her eyes widen as they land on him, but she quickly regains her composure and bows her head as they walk by. Ingrid smiles softly a her, and they continue on their way until Sylvain stops them at nearly the end of the hall.

“This one should do,” he says, turning the doorknob and entering the room. It's, of course, immaculately clean―his staff always goes above and beyond. He thinks he'll have to give them a raise or something for not slacking off at all while he was busy drinking himself to death for two months straight.

Sylvain pulls a fresh nightshirt from one of the drawers in the room, knowing that spare clothes are kept in every room in case guest have a need for them. As Ingrid leans down to remove her boots, he quickly changes his shirt, feeling a bit relieved to do so now that he's aware of how gross the one he'd been wearing is.

“Shall we?” Ingrid asks once she has her boots neatly set beside the nightstand, pulling the blankets down. She pulls her gloves off, setting them on the nightstand.

Sylvain hums, padding over to the bed and crawling in, Ingrid following. When she knowingly opens her arms to him, he feels a wash of relief flow through him, scooting closer to rest his head on her chest. Her embrace is warm and comforting, and for the first time in two months, the cacophony inside of his head quiets.

“Who's watching your lands while you're here?” he questions, sparing a glance upward after a moment of comfortable silence.

Ingrid is silent for a moment, and Sylvain is sure he catches a hint of red in her cheeks. “Well, Dorothea has been my guest for the past few months, and she volunteered....everyone there knows her by now, and she knows how to handle things from watching me...”

Sylvain feels himself smile―a foreign feeling, but it's nice. “Trying to hide it is useless, Ingrid. You're smitten, aren't you?”

Embarrassed, Ingrid clears her throat. “I...yes, I suppose I am. I don't know when or how it happened, but one day...I just woke up and saw her differently, I guess. She told me she's been waiting patiently since our academy days. It's all very embarrassing, but...I'm happy, with her. I didn't think I _could_ be happy after losing Glenn.” She winces as she says it, as if realizing her mistake. “But we don't need to talk about this right now. You're supposed to be trying to sleep, remember?”

“You don't have to feel bad about being happy just because I'm not,” Sylvain says softly, averting his eyes. “You deserve to be happy, Ingrid.”

“It doesn't mean I need to flaunt it in front of you,” she argues, sighing. “It's insensitive of me.”

“You're worrying too much, I promise.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I don't think I am. Sylvain...do you have any idea how awful you look? You...you're not okay, not at all. You need to focus on healing, and you don't need to listen to me talk about how great my life is going while you try and do that.”

Now it's Sylvain's turn to sigh. “Well, to heal, I need to try and find things to be happy about. And knowing that you have someone waiting at home for you, who loves you the way you deserve to be loved, is something that makes me happy. You're my best friend and I've always wanted that for you, so knowing that you have it now gives me one less thing to worry about. Now, come on, tell me what's been going on with everyone lately.”

Looking a little unsure, Ingrid hesitantly nods. “Well...Claude and Lorenz, they've finally stopped dancing around one another,” she begins. “Claude asked Lorenz to marry him, and Lorenz said yes. The wedding will be in the summer, on the border between Fódlan and Almyra, and will be officiated by Mercie. And Hilda and Marianne just opened another school, they've been crazy busy with that. Byleth has been busy too, of course, trying to run the entire continent, but I think having Mercie by her side really helps...”

Sylvain's eyes grow heavier and heavier as he listens to Ingrid telling him what all of their friends have been up to lately. As much as he wants to keep listening, eventually, the soothing sound of her voice manages to lull him into a deep, thankfully dreamless sleep for the first time in what feels like forever.

* * *

Sylvain wakes up hours later, with warm arms around him and a body against his back, spooning him, and he's convinced for a moment that it's Felix, that the past two months had simply been a bad dream. In his sleep-addled state, he can almost smell Felix's signature smoky scent, but when his eyes fully open and he looks over his shoulder and realizes that it's just Ingrid, that he'd imagined it, he can't help the sobs that overtake his body. He shakes so badly that it wakes Ingrid, causes her to hold him tighter, gently soothing him as much as she can while he lets it all out, all the pain and heartache held within him.

“Shh, I'm here,” she whispers, cheeks wet with tears. “I'm here, Sylvain, I've got you. Get it all out, it's alright...”

He lets out what can only be described as a wail, clutching her arms to his chest as if to hold himself together. “Why isn't he here?!” he cries, shaking violently. “I want him _back_ , Ingrid, I...I can't live without him, I can't, it _hurts_...!”

He feels Ingrid starting to shake with silent sobs behind him, and she holds him tighter. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I can't do any more than this,” she tells him, voice thick with tears. “I don't know how else to help you, I'm so sorry, I wish I could make it better...”

“Why did he have to die on me?” he wails. “We...we could've been so _happy_ , we could've spent an entire lifetime together, why did this happen? I don't _understand_ , help me understand...”

“I'm so sorry,” she repeats again, pressing her head between his shoulderblades. “He should be _here_ , he...he shouldn't have gone off and gotten himself killed, that was never supposed to happen to _Felix_ of all people...first we lost Dimitri, and now...? Fuck, Sylvain, why do we keep losing them?” she sobs, clutching him for her own comfort as much as his now, he thinks.

“How do they expect us to live normally?” Sylvain whispers, nearly choking on the lump in his throat. “What do we _do_ , Ingrid?”

“I don't know,” she admits, shaking her head. “I don't _know_ , Sylvain, I've been trying to be strong but it's so _hard_...”

“Just...don't you fucking die on me too,” he pleads after a moment, when the sobs have quieted a little, sniffling loudly. “I can't bear another loss, you're all I have left, Ingrid.”

“That goes for you too,” she counters, pulling a hand free to wipe the tears from her face. Sylvain rolls over to face her, and even in the darkness he can make out how swollen her eyes are. “When I...when I found out about the state you've been in these past couple months, I was so _angry_ , Sylvain, but more than that...I was _terrified_. I knew I had to get my shit together so that I could come and save you from yourself, but...honestly, I don't have my shit together yet at all,” she laughs humorlessly, shaking her head. “But I knew I couldn't wait any longer. Dorothea didn't want me to go in this state, but I...I couldn't bear to leave you like this for one day longer than necessary. I would've never been able to live with myself if I'd lost you, too, not when there was something I could've done to stop it. You...you're my best friend, Sylvain, I couldn't let you continue to waste away, drowning in grief all alone.”

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, avoiding her eyes. “I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger. I'm sorry I worried you so much...”

“You loved him more than anything,” Ingrid says softly, patting his hair gently. “Your coping method wasn't good, but...you were just trying to protect yourself however you could. Losing someone you love...it's traumatic, Sylvain. It's not something you can just...brush off, and act normally after. Grief does awful things to people sometimes. I just...want to help you find a healthier way of processing it from now on. No more drinking, please,” she begs, blinking away another wave of tears.

“I...I'll do my very best,” Sylvain replies, not wanting to make any promises he can't keep. That clearly never ends well for anyone, he thinks, thinking back to Felix's promise to return.

Some promises just can't be kept.

“That's all I can ask for, then,” Ingrid replies, sighing. “I'll be here with you for as long as you need me, too. Ashe and Annette are also more than willing to come here and spend time with you. Byleth and Mercie would like to as well, but it's a little harder for them considering they have the entire continent to look after, but...maybe, someday soon, you could visit them? They've been worried sick about you, you know. You have so many people who love and care for you, Sylvain, you know that, right?”

Tears prick at Sylvain's eyes at that. He'd felt so alone since losing Felix, lost to his grief, but...all along, he'd had people ready to extend a helping hand, if only he'd let them―he's suddenly very thankful for Ingrid's bullish stubbornness, because he's not quite sure he'd have snapped out of his misery otherwise.

“I know,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. “I...I think I forgot, for a while, and I feel stupid for it now, but...I won't isolate myself any longer, I promise.” It's one promise he knows he _can_ keep.

Because he doesn't _want_ to be alone, he never has. It had just felt like his only option, for a while.

“Good,” she says gently, hugging him tight to her chest. “I love you, Sylvain, you're my oldest friend left in this world and I will _always_ be here for you, no matter what.”

“I love you too,” he chokes out, the tears that had been building finally spilling over. It's a wonder he has any left to cry, after all the crying he'd done already. “I may be an absolute wreck, but I'll always be here for you, too.”

“We have to stick together, and keep their memory alive,” Ingrid murmurs, rubbing his back. “They'd want us to be happy, in whatever way we can be.”

“Why did they have to go and make it so hard, then?”

Ingrid clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “That, I don't know. What I do know, however, is that it's very dark out, and I think we should try to get some more sleep. How does that sound to you?”

“I...I guess I could try,” Sylvain replies. “I'm sorry in advance if I _do_ fall asleep and, well...wake up like _that_ again.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she says softly, kissing his forehead. “Adjusting was never going to be easy. I'll be here for you through it all.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, nuzzling into her neck. He's immensely grateful for Ingrid―for his entire life, she'd been the one looking out for him, cleaning up his messes and trying to keep him out of further trouble. He's not quite sure where he'd be without her. He thinks he should probably tell her this, and so, he does.

“You're my pain in the ass,” she says in response, letting out a little laugh. “Always have been. Sure made me want to rip my hair out in our younger days, but...I'm happy to take care of you in any way that I can. Always have been,” she tells him.

“I appreciate it more than you know,” Sylvain responds, sighing. “Someday, I'll hopefully be able to return the favor.”

“We'll see about that,” she chuckles, giving him another squeeze. “Goodnight, Sylvain.”

“...goodnight, Ingrid,” he replies, allowing his eyes to fall shut. He's not really sure if he'll be able to actually fall asleep again anytime soon, but even just resting like this is relaxing, peaceful―he feels calmer than he has in what feels like forever.

He knows that things are going to be hard for a very long time, and that there will be setbacks. The loss of Felix will likely remain an open wound in his heart for many, many years to come, but he owes it to himself and to the ones he loves to try and live with that pain anyway.

He's sure Felix will be waiting for him at the end, anyway―they'll be together again someday.

**Author's Note:**

> hehe
> 
> honestly i'm not 100% happy with the ending, but i really just wanted to get this out, because it's been just siting here taunting me for way too fucking long :')
> 
> if you....enjoyed? idk if that's the right word for this lmao, but...consider leaving a comment here, or you can find me at fraldarrius over on tumblr! i DO have a much happier sylvix fic in the works, i'm doing my best to get it finished up, so be on the lookout for that one <3


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